


be nice to me

by Anonymous



Series: wholesome week 2. [1]
Category: Sleepy Bois Inc., Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, Wholesome Week (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Oh." Tubbo sounds congested, now that Tommy thinks about it. "Yeah, no--I went home early."Tommy blanches. "Youwhat?""I went home early," Tubbo repeats. "What are you, deaf?"--sickfic, sorta. bad days and hugs. wholesome week season 2, day 2.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: wholesome week 2. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934401
Comments: 23
Kudos: 911
Collections: Anonymous





	be nice to me

**Author's Note:**

> early 2000s, american setting.

"Where the fuck are you?"

There's a beat of silence; some shuffling down the line. "What?"

"I asked where the fuck you were," Tommy hisses again. "Third is about to start, I can't cover for you for much longer."

"Oh." Tubbo sounds congested, now that Tommy thinks about it. "Yeah, no--I went home early."

Tommy blanches. "You _what?_ "

"I went home early," Tubbo repeats. "What are you, deaf?"

"Why'd you do that?"

"Threw up," Tubbo says simply. "They gave me the boot. Oh, shit--pick up my chem homework, yeah?"

Tommy rolls his eyes. _Priorities._ "So your parents are back, then?"

"My parents are--no, no." He sniffs. "Still in, in Chicago, or something--"

"Tubbo," Tommy says lowly. "Don't tell me you walked home."

Tubbo only laughs at him. "I'm not stupid, y'know," he says. "I got Phil to take me back."

"You forced my _dad_ to--I'm gonna beat the shit out of you."

"Like to see you try," Tubbo says. "I'm sure it's just a stomach bug or something--see you tomorrow, okay? Have fun with Ms. T." And the line clicks dead. 

Tommy frowns down at the little screen before snapping his Nokia shut and throwing it into his bag. It's not like school is insufferable, exactly, just a helluva lot more boring if he doesn't have anyone to help him make fun of everyone else. So he suffers through English, picking at his notes and writing down his one-liners as they come, no one to enjoy them live. The rest of the day continues to drag--63 on his pre-calc test, fucking hell, shitty school lunch he could hardly keep down, sat alone at their spot--and by the time he's trudging out to Wil's car he thinks he could just about punch the windshield in. 

"Something happen?" Wilbur asks, buckling his seatbelt as Tommy climbs in the passenger. 

"Nope." Wilbur blinks, seemingly taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. Good for him! Good for him. Tommy really isn't in the mood to talk with his dumbass brother right now. He claps his hands. "Lets go already!"

Wilbur doesn't move. "So. . . Tubbo not coming, then?"

"Oh my Goooooddddd," Tommy groans. "Does everything have to be an interrogation around here?"

"I'm just asking!"

"No--no, he's not coming, so can we just go?" 

Wilbur only stares at him, wide-eyed, before shifting into reverse and backing them out of the parking lot. Tommy sighs and sinks further down into the seat. The frustration of the day's caught with him, prickling just beneath his skin, festering into something truly angry. It's irrational, too, and he knows it, which only makes him all the more ticked off. "Sorry for snapping at you," he mutters before anything gets out of hand. 

Wilbur hums. "S'okay. You've done worse." He flexes his fingers against the wheel. "Wanna talk about it?" he asks carefully, sounding just a hair uncomfortable. 

(Never really been his avenue, has it? Always Techno's job, or Phil's, after they got him--never Wilbur. Frustrated as he is, he can't help but appreciate the effort. Wil's a good brother, even if he's a dick sometimes.)

"Just kind of a shit day," Tommy huffs. "Fuckin-- Tubbo betrayed me, left me to rot through pre-calc--I got a 63 on that test, by the way, a _63--_ "

"Wait," Wilbur says. "You said Tubbo left early?"

"Why else wouldn't he be here?" Tommy says, throwing his arms out. "Said he's--he's sick, or something."

"Huh," Wilbur says. "His folks are back in town, then?"

Tommy shakes his head. "Michigan or something. Got Dad to take him back to his."

"Huh," Wilbur says again.

"Fuckin sucks." He shakes his head. "Really fuckin sucks. Y'know, what right does he have to get sick in the middle of the day?"

"Every right."

"Exactly! Exactly, no right to just _spring_ that on me--what the fuck's his deal?"

"He's home alone, then?"

"Guess so. Karma's a bitch."

Wilbur gnaws at his lip, eyes on the road. When he turns away from the countryside and back towards the city, Tommy decides not to comment. 

If he's being honest--which he is, most of the time--he doesn't understand what Tubbo's parents see in the city. It's loud, grimy, generally not very appealing; then again, he's probably got some sort of bias stemming from growing up in the woods.

Whatever. Wilbur drives them into the quote-unquote concrete jungle and doesn't say anything more than "go get him", which Tommy figures he should probably do--not out of concern for Tubbo, of course. He just doesn't really wanna be left in the middle of the city without a ride. 

So he knocks. It takes a few seconds but the door to the apartment opens, just a bit. "What, here to beat the shit out of me?"

Tubbo looks significantly worse for wear.

Pale, mostly. A bit sweaty. hair fussed up, bundled in a hoodie. Squinting at him, or at the lights behind him, or just in general like he's trying not to open his eyes all the way. 

"Here to save you, more like," Tommy says finally, leaning his shoulder against the door in an attempt to get it to budge. No can do, it seems. "Come on, let me in, Wil wants you to come stay the night."

"Oh, _Wil_ wants me? Guess I have to, then," he says, but he doesn't move.

Tommy doesn't move, either.

Tubbo gives an exasperated sigh and rubs at his eyes. "You're really not gonna leave me alone?"

"You really wanna spend the whole day, alone, sick in your apartment?" 

Tubbo doesn't answer, just shuts his eyes and leans his head against the door. "You are really pushing my limits."

"Dad said he'd make soup," Tommy says quickly, and maybe he isn't really that honest all the time. "That kind that you like with the potatoes. Probably make you feel better. How did you get him to take you back here, by the way?"

"Told him my mom was home," Tubbo says slowly. "He trusts me, y'know."

Tommy scoffs. "Not after this, he won't. Now are you coming or not?" 

He pauses. "Give me a second," he decides eventually. Tommy decides to take the victory. "Go wait in the car, or something."

"See you downstairs!" Tommy hollers as the door shuts. He's pretty sure that Tubbo flips him the bird. 

It costs Tommy four minutes of relative, awkward silence before Tubbo finally appears, hopping the last step on the stairwell and making his way to the car.

"Thanks for picking me up," he mutters as he hauls himself into the backseat. 

"Don't sweat it," Wilbur says, chipper as ever. Tubbo's backpack hits the floorboard with a thud. "Got bricks in there?"

"Might as well be," Tubbo says, leaning back against the seat and covering his eyes with his hand. "Textbooks. Got a chemistry exam tomorrow."

"Yeah, I don't think so." 

Tommy scoffs. "Good luck with that one--"

"Listen," Wilbur says over him. "Listen. You stay over looking like that," and he gestures over his shoulder to Tubbo, who only cracks an eye open at him, "Phil's not gonna let you outta bed for at least a day."

Tubbo laughs. "He can try."

He does. Phil's fawning over him the instant he steps inside the front door, one hand on his shoulder and the other brushing his hair back to feel his forehead.

"No fever," he says. "What, just a headache?"

"I think it's a stomach bug," Tubbo mutters, cheeks flushed pink. "Really, it's not that big of a deal. You didn't have to come get me," he says in Wilbur's direction. 

"You shouldn't have let him go home," Wilbur says to Phil. Tommy drops Tubbo's bag on the floor of the foyer. 

"Told me his parents were with him," Phil answers. "Menace. You're a real good liar, y'know that?"

"My one talent," Tubbo says. He wraps his arms tighter around his chest. 

"Not true, but I'll let it slide for now." He sighs, holds Tubbo at arms length. "Any other symptoms?"

"A bit dizzy, I guess? It's nothing, though."

"He's lying," Tommy pipes up. 

"Am not--"

"Threw up at school. And you looked half about to pass out the whole ride home--"

"Shut _up,_ Tommy--"

"Go lie down," Phil says firmly, loud enough to get them both to shut up. "couch or the bed, your choice; you don't even have to sleep, just take it easy."

Tubbo doesn't answer, just looks down at his shoes and picks at his hoodie string.

"Okay?" 

"Fine."

Phil grins at him. "You're a good kid," he says, letting go of his shoulders before turning to Wilbur and Tommy. "You two? How were your days?"

Its a relatively short conversation before Wilbur darts off to his bedroom and Tommy finds himself on one end of the couch. Tubbo's curled into the other, looking small and mostly in pain, eyebrows scrunched together and jaw clenched. Still pale, still bundled up. 

Tommy elects to ignore this, mostly. His homework needs doing, after all, and he's never really been the best at comforting people. He keeps his nose in his English, and then his test corrections, and tries--really, he does--to keep his focus on his work.

"You're being annoying, you know," Tommy says when Tubbo shifts again, clutching one of the throw pillows to his chest.

"You're the ones who picked me up," Tubbo retorts, cracking open an eye to look at him. "I would've been fine at home."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"Maybe! Maybe." He laughs. Winces. "I think I've got a migraine."

"Woohoo," Tommy says dully. "Dad could probably give you something for it."

"It'll go away," Tubbo says, and then to himself, "it'll go away."

Again, they lapse into silence. Again, Tubbo struggles to get comfortable; he winds up stretched across the couch, face pressed into the side of Tommy's thigh.

"Personal space?" Tommy asks, a bit bewildered. 

"I'm in pain," Tubbo whines. "Be nice to me."

"I am being nice," Tommy insists. 

"You're being a jerk."

"Sure."

Tubbo doesn't answer. He scoots further down the couch, drops his head in Tommy's lap, rolls onto his side. Tommy freezes, staring down at his friend, and realizes very suddenly just how much trust has been placed in him.

(It's always been Techno. Always been Phil, too. Not Wilbur. Certainly not Tommy.

Despite himself, Tommy decides there's a first time for everything.)

Silently, Tommy threads the fingers of his left hand through Tubbo's hair. He sighs; Tommy watches some of the tension seep from his shoulders and smiles, just a little, before going back to his homework, toying absently with Tubbo's hair as he works. 

"Missed you at school today," Tommy says quietly. Tubbo exhales out of his nose.

"Sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving early," he mumbles.

Tommy scoffs. "You're ridiculous, you know--I'm not gonna hold your being sick against you, dumbass."

"Still."

"Yeah, yeah." Tubbo reaches up, fumbling blindly for Tommy's hand; he obliges, allowing Tubbo to thread their fingers together. "Was boring without you."

"Of course it was," Tubbo says, words slurring together. "It's cause I'm so cool."

"Sure," Tommy says, smiling down at his best friend as he finally dozes off. "Very cool."

**Author's Note:**

> day 1 should be up sometime this week, as well as (hopefully) the rest of the prompts. very excited to be participating. :]


End file.
